


Vigil

by AlphaKantSpell



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, I'M WARNING YOU NOW THIS IS PRETTY BAD, Present Tense, mage vs templar, maybe another time, will they won't they no they won't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaKantSpell/pseuds/AlphaKantSpell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Cadash returns with some grievous injuries and is attempting to keep quiet about the reason why.  Cullen doesn't pry but he can empathize with the guilt she's consumed by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vigil

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't turn out at all coherent as I'd planned (that's what you get for picking up a story several months after attempting it) but here were a few scenes I liked and wanted to share.

“I’m surprised. You’d think a man who’s been a templar long as you have wouldn’t be so Pro-Mage.” 

She isn’t the first female dwarf he’s met but she is the most curious (there’s a joke in there somewhere about her title being ‘Inquisitor’). In his years, Cullen has been bombarded with questions - questions about the state of his Circle, his actions, pleas for help, scathing remarks about the order he serves. . .served. 

Inquisitor Cadash shoots off questions to him with the abundance of Sera’s arrows. Large in part, these questions cater to his advisory role, status updates on the war and like. Increasingly, however, Casash has taken to personal matters. 

Cullen is uncomfortable. He can’t allow himself to become complacent. Too much is at stake. Too many things have gone wrong when he wavers in his duty. 

But Cadash is staring at him and he’s never seen eyes so blue, fathomless and dark like the waters of Lake Calenhad. He hates her for it but he can’t look away. A longing sort of despair tugs at him like a cold need for a punishing fight. 

He clears his throat and recites his carefully constructed words on the matter. His opinion is asked often and without reservation, by all matter of beings. These days there are as many opinions as there are stars. Everyone wants to know where a person stands, what line they draw, for better or worse. 

“I am neither Pro-Mage nor Pro-Templar. Both parties has sinned and strayed from what the Maker has intended.” Cadash nods because she’s heard this before. Dorian and Solas were prickly around him at first, recognizing his stiff posture for a Templar’s at once. Vivienne on the other hand spoke with him as if their beliefs were once and the same. They are not. 

“Someone once said to me, ‘Magic is to serve what is best in man – ” 

“Not what is most base,” Cadash finishes, flashing a grin that reminds him too much of poker cheats. If the rumors are true, before all this she was little more than a petty thief. Then again, there are rumors that she’s actually a High Dragon taken dwarf form or perhaps the Witch of the Wilds, hiding in the least likely of places. 

Stiff embarrassment pinches his shoulders together. He’s not sure how many times he must endure this go around with her. Cadash asks him everything from how many men are they expected to lose in their next campaign to his favorite musical instrument. The questions are varied in depth but it always bounces back here: is he mage or templar?

“The Circle has its merits but the current system is flawed.” He’s witnessed it fall twice, once due to leniency and another by tyrannical force. Neither is a viable option. “Too many Templars have forgotten that they serve Andraste, not the political will of mortals.” His words are heavy and hard to speak but he must because their weight tells their importance. Cullen isn’t looking at her anymore, arms behind his back, stance ridged. “Mutual respect is necessary for the Circle to function as it should.”

“And how should it function?” 

He glances at her sideways. Cadash is still grinning, face suspended like she’s waiting for a punch-line. His eyes snap back fast. Even if she does not take his seriously he will.

“The Circle should function like. . .” He pauses, eyes down, tone light and wavering despite his age. “Like a family.” 

He’s seen how the Hawke siblings care for one another. That is the standard to which Templars should be held, a partnership to keep the other in check. 

Cadash whistles; to his annoyance. She claps and says with a calmness that baffles him, “Sometimes you make me wish I were a mage.” 

He doesn’t know what to make of that but he doesn’t have to. Cadash leaves Sky Hold that morning. She doesn’t return for more than a month. 

. . .

Cullen is alone in the map room, studying the large map and moving the many pieces into their proper positions. Iron Bull has a habit of positioning the pieces so that they are fighting each other, regardless of what is actually going on out in the world. More than that, though, Cullen stares at the mountains of Ferelden, remembering his homeland. Part of him misses her and will always miss her.  
They’re also the last known whereabouts of the Inquisitor. Her progress has been dark for a fortnight and rumors are starting to surface and she and her companions are dead. 

This is unacceptable. Aside from the fact they have no one else who can mend the tares in the Veil, there is no second in command to run the Inquisition. He’s brought that necessity before the Inquisitor before but she always brushed it aside, claiming, “You guys’ll figure something out.” 

He sighs as he moves the last piece, the Inquisitor’s totem. Cullen runs his thumb over the jagged metal, his thoughts a storm as he places it in her last known position. It’s late, well past sunset, and the Hold is settling in for the night. There are guards posted, of course, but few candles and other workers about. Cullen makes to grab his lantern and return to his room when a commotion comes at the door. 

“Serah, the Inquisitor has returned,” says a harried servant. The guards look to him, fidgeting and wondering if they should leave their post. Shucking whatever weariness was about him before, Cullen hurries down the hall. 

“Remain vigilant,” he chides. He prays as he walks, for his hands to be steady in protecting the Keep. His post has fallen too many times. Cullen won’t allow Sky Hold to become another Kirkwall. 

He doesn’t realize it’s raining until the spittle hits his face. Even then it hardly registers. At the base of the steps is an arresting scene, the Inquisitor being carried like a child by Blackwall, a nervous Varric in tow. Cullen’s at the base of the stairs before he can think. 

“How badly is she wounded?” He has the strain his tight voice over the wind and rain. Even then, half his words are snatched by his nerves. 

Varric gives an unhelpfully embarrassed grimace. Blackwall tries to clarify but Cadash interrupts with a, “oon’t tell ‘em izzn’t ah problehm.” 

Cullen has neither the time nor patience to translate. He looks to Blackwall and Varric has found the cobbles in the stairs fascinating. 

“She fell off her horse.” 

“Ah’ told you nnit to tell ‘ehm!”

Cadash thrashes in his arms, fists coming close to knocking both humans in the jaw. Moments later she grabs her head and moan, curled and quivering. She’s concussed and out of her mind like a lyrium addict. Cullen would be more sympathetic except it’s raining icy splinters and both of her traveling companions are bloodied. They’re exhausted. Varric’s coat is in tatters and Blackwall shows bone weary fatigue. 

Cullen doubts their injuries all came from Cadash falling off a horse. 

“Do you need assistance to the Healer’s Wing?” He doesn’t ask if they need it. 

Cullen reaches for Cadash as he speaks. Blackwall and Varric share a pointed look he has no time to dissect. Dwarves are famously terrible at recovering from head wounds. They do not have the luxury of idle posturing. 

Whatever Blackwall finds in Varric’s expression must be agreeable because he passes Cadash to him. She’s heavy; dense as the stone bricks that make Sky Hold. Cullen shifts their weight as best he can. Her eyes are pinched shut and she’s murmuring threats but neither is something Cullen worries about. 

“We can make it from here,” Varric tells him. He gestures to Blackwall and the Warden sighs but starts to climb Sky Hold’s many stairs. 

Keeping tight hold of his charge, Cullen starts up the stairs after them. He’s all but running up them, trying his best not to jostle the Inquisitor or exhaust his own legs. 

“oon’t tell Cullen.” Cadash is murmuring again. Her voice is drunk on pain and it’d be easy to ignore if not for her saying his name so often. “oon’t tell ‘ehm. . dn’t tell ‘ehm ‘bout the mages.” 

Cadash is in tears. Her hands are over her face, blocking out everything but the jagged cry tearing from her throat. Cullen needs to keep walking but he can’t look away. 

“nn’t tell ‘ehm about th’ mages. Please.”

He runs the rest of the way.

. . . 

It’s touch and go for a few hours. Dwarves are made to withstand injuries, not heal from them. Cullen and the rest of the party are banned from entering the Inquisitor’s private room where the healers are mending her. Cassandra stops by near daybreak. Her gaze is heavy but sympathetic. Cullen can’t stand it. He continues his duty to Sky Hold same as he always have. The staff are kind enough not to pick him for information. 

Sera isn’t. 

“Heard about your heroic rescue, lover boy.” Sera takes a bite of an apple as she teases him, slouching against one of the many chairs in the hall. Of course she does. He doubts she likes the taste so much as the irritating sound she can make while eating it. Cullen spares her a glance the returns to his work. 

Some members of Sky Hold aren’t sell swords waiting for the Inquisitor’s beck and call. 

He stops his work again. 

Was that too crass? He hasn’t had much patience since the Inquisition began. Something about losing his home again to a war across the world while demons pour into it has him on edge. 

“Hardly a rescue. The Inquisitor needed help to the infirmary so I gave it.”

“You know Blackwall could have taken her there.”

“Blackwall is still in the infirmary himself. He only just made it up the stairs with Tethras’ help. I highly doubt he would have been able to carry the Inquisitor without further injury.”

Sear takes another bite of her apple. Cullen winces. 

“Still, a guard could have done it. It was late. Even Cole was asleep by then, or whatever it is he does when he’s not here.” 

Cullen does all he can not to sigh at her but these people the Inquisitor surrounds herself with are exasperating. 

“Look, we all know you and she have somethin’ going on. Just go see her. You’re scaring the servants with your ‘Ser Serious Business’ thing you’ve got going on.” 

Cullen stops all together and faces her. “Are you the center point of that rumor then? I would kindly ask that you stop telling them. The Inquisitor is a fine woman and she doesn’t need harassment or her actions being questioned.”

“Wow, how romantic. Easy there or someone might you’re not actually together.”

“We are not.” Sera laughs then takes another bite of her apple. Cullen frowns and after a moment, she stops.

“Wait, you’re serious.” Cullen has Sera’s full attention now and she crosses the room to look at him. Cullen does not waver in his stance; though he would rather she dropped the subject. 

“You’re not fucking her?”

She doesn’t believe it. Cullen winces at her inelegant assessment. 

“That is correct.”

“Why not? I’d fuck her. What’s wrong with you?” Sera tosses up her hands at him and Cullen isn’t sure when the conversation got so out of hand. He does his best to ignore the sticky blush snaking up his neck. 

“The Inquisitor is a fine woman but as I’ve stated before, her judgment should not be scrutinized as biased based upon her relationship with I or any of the other Advisers.” 

Sera rolls her eyes and crunches down on her apple again. He hopes that means she’ll leave him be. 

“You’re really stupid, you know. Seems like everyone but you knows she’s in love with you.” 

Maker, what can he say to make her quiet? It isn’t fair how she goes on saying things that he cannot allow to pass. If he gets attached, the world falls apart. It happened at both Circles. Unwelcome attraction forms for a powerful woman and he dares let himself hope – and the world burns. 

Cullen returns to his work, determined not to let Sera under his skin. She scrutinizes him a while longer, sighing at him and eating her apple till it’s just core. 

“If you don’t make a move, someone else will. Someone more. . .” She passes right by him for the door, twirling like she does when she’s fighting, acting for all the world like a cat playing with the tail of a mouse. “Flexible.” 

“Out,” Cullen demands, for he can bare her no longer. Sera cackles and saunters her way out. Cullen collapses back into his chair, hands in his hair. It’s getting thick again. The ends are curling around his fingers. 

Desire is his demon and he must protect others from it. 

. . .

When the Inquisitor recovers Cullen doesn’t plan on being her first visitor but there are plans he must go over with her that have built up since her absence. The healers give him a knowing look all the same that makes him uncomfortable after Sera’s confrontation. He’s been careless. 

There are so many bandages around her head she appears like a Nevera corpse. It makes whatever injuries she sustained all the more apparent and Cullen prays in thanks that she did not fall. She’s looking out the window from her bed but when he draws near, Cadash grins. 

“There’s my favorite adviser,” she sings unabashedly. Cullen stills like he was zapped by her words. Cadash pats the space beside her. The cot is human sized so there’s plenty of space for him. Cullen sits like he’s in a trance. Cadash’s smile is light. He’d call it airy but she’s having trouble keeping it up. Her smile has a weight to it that’s dragging it down. Signs point to pain or fatigue but Cullen can sense something more. 

“Inquisitor Cadash, you really shouldn’t show favoritism, even in jest.”

She’s frowning now. He doesn’t like seeing it but he appreciates her finally being honest. After a moment, Cadash clears her expression and asks, “Was there something you wanted?” 

“Yes,” Cullen clears his throat before showing the many documents that had accumulated. They work over the next hour, Cadash focusing despite her injuries. He’s halfway between explaining an attack he’s been planning on another magister-controlled part of Thedas when Cadash stops him. 

“Wait.” She’s chewing at her lip and after a moment she meets his eyes. He recognizes the guilt he sees in her. Cullen bore a similar expression in Kirkwall. He stops everything, settling papers aside and sitting so he can fully watch her. Cadash hesitates a moment more. 

“I massacred an entire village. Some of them were blood mages. Most weren’t.”

“Did they deserve it?” he asks without pause. Cadash’s expression falls. She hadn’t been anticipating this. 

“I don’t know. We tried to get just the bloodmages but they ran and. . .and they panicked. The whole village rallied for them.” She ducked her head. “There was a baby. She was trampled. Her chest was…” She makes a motion with her hands, fingers thatched together. 

They’re both quiet after that and Cullen has the decency to pretend there aren’t stinging tears at her eyes. He moves away – Cadash jerks her head to watch him but relaxes when she realizes it’s only so that he can grab gauze. 

“I’m pretty sure this isn’t its medical purpose,” she says, ever ready to joke past the hurt. Cullen nods to her and sits again.  
“Actually, I’ve learned from experience this is the best thing to use for tears.” 

Smile watery, she accepts it, dabbing her eyes and blowing her nose. She looks so small and vulnerable like this. It’s easy to forget she regularly fights demons and dragons. 

“The first mage I killed failed their Harrowing,” he begins. Cadash freezes and watches him. “She was young, still had lots of baby fat. I remember thinking she was pretty and hoping she’d pass the Harrowing. Although she was nervous she was more confident than anyone else I’d Harrowed.

“Harrowings are rough on everyone. Mages like to think we’re cruel and heartless about the matter but the truth is that the templars end up more emotionally devastated than the mages. They understand what’s expected of them and are grateful to have passed. We. . we’re the ones who have to kill them. 

“Her name was Kai, a Denerium street rat. She was thankful for her magic, to be in a warm home where food was never a concern. It – the demon possessing would have made it past the door if not for one of our runes. I’d missed it. She looked fine. Smiled same as ever. Even admitted how silly she’d been by being too confident. Then she couldn’t make it past the rune. 

“She begged, explained how the rune could have malfunctioned or been sabotaged. We had a few humans from Denerium who hated elves on principal. She was set up. It all made so much sense.” 

He swallows around the stiffness of his words. Cullen hasn’t told anyone outside of the Order this tale. Now and again a recruit needed to hear it, needed to understand they weren’t alone in their grief over the duty they had. The duty he thought was just. 

“I killed her. Had to. ‘Do not suffer a Malificar to talk’. I was being watched and if I hesitated to cut down a demon I might have been cut from the Order. Rules were stricter then, Templars held to a higher standard. Even as I swung the sword she was begging with my name at her lips.” 

Cadash’s hands are on his. He smiles for her. She’s sweet and has no idea the horrors he’s been through.

Then again, he cannot imagine her’s; ripped to the Fade as a dwarf, carrying the weight of an apocalypse on her shoulders.

“The runes were checked while a Tranquil scrubbed her blood off the floor. There wasn’t any evidence of tampering but it was so unusual for a demon to be slain without trying to defend itself.” 

Even now he can see her backing away from him, blood streaking down her exposed belly, viridian robes slashed by his blade. Her hands are outstretched, demanding mercy and his captain’s eyes are on Cullen’s back. 

“As much as I tried to find an explanation there wasn’t one to be found. She died, perhaps because she was possessed or because the Order dictated I do so.”

“So. . . “Cadash began. “You think I did the right thing?”

“No. I – I think what has happened will weigh on your mind. That’s good. It keeps you grounded. Life is precious and we should mourn every one lost.”

“So you think what I did was wrong?”

“What I’m saying is that I cannot pass judgment on you.” She’s scowling at him now and he takes a breath to plan his next words. “Only the Maker can judge you. Some actions we take are just, some unjust. You killed a village. It’s possible if you hadn’t, those malificar could have killed ten times that number.”

“. . .Now I’m just confused.” Cadash falls back against the bed and sighs. “Life was so much easier as a lyrium smuggler. Cut. Dry. People only died if they messed things up for us. Most of the time no one got hurt.” 

“Most of the time.” 

Her stare is a flat out glare now. Cullen clears his throat. 

“My intention – which has thus far not been clear – ”

“You’re telling me.”

“Is that life is sometimes uncontrollable. We may plan and pray but disaster still strikes. What we must do is our best. Do what we think is right and keep ourselves to that standard with our every action.”

Cadash reaches for him, patting the side of his chin. His brows are tight and shocked at the action. 

“You’re pretty bad at this comforting thing.” 

“Inquisitor I - ”

She pinches his jaw shut. “I wasn’t finished. My turn to get on the pedestal.” She drops her hand. “You’re pretty bad at this but I’d rather your honesty than someone reassuring me that I did good. I messed up. Maybe I could have done something different. Maybe it would have been worse if I didn’t.” 

He hands go to her eyes now, blocking out the light. Cullen shifts and begins to leave when she speaks again. 

“Can you stay? I . . .I appreciated your story.”

“As you wish. I – I will get a chair.” 

She glances at him through her fingers. “You could stay where you are.” 

Cullen’s throat feels thick like tar coats it. He looks away and straightens his robes as he stands. “That would be highly inappropriate, I think.” 

“. . .I wouldn’t mind.” 

He looks at her again and something passes between them. Cullen doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Everything goes wrong when he acknowledges it. 

“I’ll get the chair.” 

He doesn’t chance a glance at her now. There’d be no point when he already knows what her expression is. 

When he returns again she’s faced away from him, already asleep. Resolute, Cullen places his chair and takes vigil till early morning when a healer shoes him away. Yawning, unsure what to make of the emotions that have been festering in him, Cullen goes to his room to rest. He’ll be expected in the War Room soon. The Inquisition pauses for no one.


End file.
